


the best laid plans

by princessoftheworlds



Series: it's (not) all an act [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Before making their debut as "a couple," Jack and Ianto have dinner and get to know each other.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: it's (not) all an act [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927099
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	the best laid plans

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy part two, which I definitely shouldn't have just started and posted the day after. I need a posting schedule, damnit!
> 
> You should probably read part one for this to make sense. What are you doing? Go read it.
> 
> Thanks to Zoe for editing this and the last part.

The text comes when Jack is getting out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist. 

His smartphone chimes, and when Jack wanders over to his nightstand to pick it up and thumbs it open, he finds a message that reads,  _ We should probably work out our cover story and timeline. _

A moment later, his phone buzzes again:  _ This is Ianto, your studio-mandated boyfriend. Sorry, should have led with that. I got your number from Gwen.  _

Smiling, Jack lifts his phone and carefully types back his own text:  _ Great! This is Jack, kinda obviously. What were you saying about a cover story? _

Ianto’s reply comes back barely a second later:  _ I was thinking that we should probably figure out the details of our “relationship” now so that we have time to practice them. It should probably feel more natural rather than rote if we’re ever asked where we met. _

He has a point, Jack muses. He’s barely aware that he’s dripping water all over his hardwood floor as he responds to Ianto,  _ You’re right! When do you want to get together and do that? I’m free today and tomorrow. _

Ianto takes a bit longer this time, a few more minutes during which Jack manages to rub his hair dry. Then his phone chimes.  _ I can come over in an hour if you don’t mind. _

_ Of course! See you then!  _ Jack texts Ianto his address before dropping his smartphone back to his bed. 

In Jack’s large closet, his gaze travelscarefully over the many, many shirts, over the shelves of folded jeans, the drawer or three of sweaters, and the shoes neatly arranged on a rack pressed against one wall. His eyes keep drawing back to his fairly extensive collection of blue clothes, and so he finally picks out a sweater that Gwen bought because it matches his eyes and a pair of dark grey wool trousers.

Just because he and Ianto have to fake their relationship doesn’t mean that Jack can’t put in effort to look nice for his pretend boyfriend.

* * *

“Nice place,” Ianto says as he steps inside Jack’s apartment, cradling a bottle of good-quality wine whose label Jack recognizes. He neatly toes off his shoes, staring wide-eyed around him.

Inwardly, Jack preens. He’s proud of his apartment, meticulously designed by him to be reminiscent of all three different places he’s ever called home throughout his life - Scotland, the tiny Northern California seaside town of Boeshane where he and his mother moved, and London. All the expensive - but actually comfortable - furniture is done in varying tones of blue with dashes of green, white, and grey. There’re sci-fi and vintage movie posters lining the walls along with unique paintings from lesser-known artists. 

“Thank you,” Jack says as he takes the bottle from Ianto and moves to the kitchen. “You look nice! Sharp dresser! I like that in my men, even in the pretend ones.” He winks. Ianto trails behind him like a lost little lamb, and Jack admires the faint blush that tinges to his pale Welsh skin when he compliments him.

“Thanks.” Ianto tugs sheepishly at the sleeves of his maroon button-up shirt. It’s almost the color of the wine for which Jack’s currently fishing around his drawers for a corkscrew. Finally, he finds one and holds it up triumphantly. 

“Do you want anything to eat?” he asks Ianto as he works the bottle open. “It’s almost dinner time, and although I wasn’t planning on making anything, I do have a leftover serving of spaghetti bolognese we can split.” A beat. “It would go well with the wine.”

Ianto shrugs. “Sure.” Gracefully, he slides onto a bar stool, facing Jack, and spreads his hands against the cool white marble of the kitchen island. “How long have you lived here?”

Jack hums as he pours a decent amount of wine into two separate glasses. “About five years. Bought this place six years ago after my first major television role,” he explains, “but only really moved in a year later. There were some complications with the purchase, and then I was away filming for a few months…” He shrugs, gently pushing a glass over to Ianto, who wraps elegant, slim fingers around the stem. 

“I live across the city,” Ianto volunteers. “Not quite as nice or as large as your place but close enough to the theater that I have a quick commute.”

After Jack pops his pan of spaghetti in the oven, he leans against the counter, sipping his wine. “Tell me about yourself,” he says. “How’d you get into the theater?”

And so Ianto does.

Born in Newport, about half an hour outside of Cardiff, he’s a second child. His older sister by seven years, Rhiannon, is married with a niece and nephew that Ianto adores but doesn’t necessarily engage with too well. He was a quiet kid growing up, but when pressured into choosing an activity in high school, he ended up in drama club because he liked the plays he’d been reading in class. A scholarship got him into drama school, but he still spent his early twenties doing the struggling actor bit in London. Then he signed on with ruthless talent agent Yvonne Hartman when she saw him in a production of  _ Henry V _ before tracking him down at the coffee shop where he worked as a barista.

“Yvonne put me on the map,” Ianto explains, his glass of wine nearly empty. “She was a bit rude and condescending, but then again, she’s always like that. I got more prominent roles on the stage throughout my mid- to late twenties along with a few television roles. I did a mini-series about time travel I really liked.” He smiles faintly, and Jack finds himself smiling too. “But as Gwen probably told you, I spent the last few years struggling to break into the movies, which is where we are now.”

“It is rough,” Jack acknowledges. “Show business can be a bumpy road.” Right then, his oven beeps, and shrugging apologetically to Ianto, he pulls on oven mitts before retrieving the pan and placing it on the kitchen counter along with two plates and a pasta fork. “Hold on,” he says to a faintly-amused Ianto. “I learned how to do this in Italy.” 

Then he expertly twirls two steaming piles of pasta onto both of their plates.

“Brilliant!” Ianto says to Jack, expression humorous as he tugs his plate closer. “How long did it take you to learn that?”

Jack hops onto the barstool beside Ianto, and briefly, their knees brush. But neither of them moves away. “Not too long.” Then Ianto raises a sharp eyebrow in disbelief, and Jack finds himself laughing and admitting, “Okay, okay. I practiced it for a week for a recurring TV role I didn’t get.”

Ianto snorts. “Now, that’s more like it.” He picks up his fork and digs into the pasta. After chewing a few quiet bites, his brow furrows. “This tastes familiar…” 

Sheepishly, Jack bows his head. “I might have gotten the recipe from Gwen. I think it’s Rhys’s.” It’s odd; less than a few hours he’s actually known this man, and Ianto’s gotten him to speak his mind often in a way that he wouldn’t with other people. It’s not like Jack’s particularly soft-spoken or filtered, but still, he keeps his guard high when possible.

“Thought so,” says Ianto, grinning. “I’ve had it too often to not be able to identify the taste.” 

“When you’d meet Gwen?” Jack asks. “I don’t remember seeing you at the wedding.”

The other man shakes his head. “I wasn’t there. I had a play in London I couldn’t get out of. But I met Gwen when I moved to this city several years ago, and we’ve been quite friendly since. She’s kind, good for Rhys.”

“They’re certainly a pair,” remarks Jack. He chuckles, grip loose around his fork. “I think Rhys wanted to punch me the first few times we met.” Then he shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“Sounds like him,” Ianto comments as Jack chews. Ianto tilts his head consideringly. “Is that where we should say we met?” When Jack motions for him to go on: “At Gwen and Rhys’s flat?”

Jack swallows before saying, “Gwen took me to see your play in London last June. There might be pap shots from around then. We can say that’s where Gwen first introduced us, but we met more formally at a party Gwen threw, where we really hit it off and exchanged phone numbers.”

Ianto eyes him warily. “You’re a good liar.”

“I’m an actor,” Jack tells him, rolling his eyes. “Kinda comes with the territory.” When Ianto looks unconvinced: “Tell me you’re not a good liar too.”

“Alright, fine,” Ianto replies, shoulders slumping as he leans back on his stool. “I’m an actor  _ and  _ a good liar.”

“We’ll need to be,” Jack says sagely, “to sell the act.” A beat. “I’m lucky you’re pretty.” They lapse into silence, and then Ianto’s eyes flicker downward slightly. Jack becomes acutely aware that he’s spent the last few moments staring at Ianto’s soft-looking lips, so he quickly forks another bite of pasta into his mouth.

“When did we actually get together?” Ianto asks. “Presuming we’d been texting for a few weeks-”

“Months,” Jack corrects after a quick sip of wine. “Circa this time, I would have been in Canada filming. Let’s say towards the end, I secretly flew up to London to surprise you and took you out for the night.”

“Which turned into a date,” continues Ianto, catching Jack’s drift. “And by the end of the night, we slept together.” His lips twitch slightly at this.

“Hey,” cries Jack, acting playfully affronted. “I’ll let you know that I’m excellent in bed. Just ask my many lovers.”

“Isn’t that the reason we’re in a fake relationship now?” Ianto points out, and Jack feels his eyebrows rise in surprise at Ianto’s forwardness. He holds their challenging stare for just long enough that Ianto starts to look hesitant and apologetic, before doubling over in laughter.

“I like you, Ianto Jones,” Jack declares, practically breathless. 

Ianto scowls. “You’re an arse.” But his expression is fairly soft and amused.

“Correction.” Jack holds up the hand not clutching a fork before gesturing to himself. “I have a great ass!”

“Fine, yes, you do,” agrees Ianto, rolling his eyes. “I’ve certainly seen enough of it on the telly.”

“If you’ve got it,” Jack says, grinning lecherously, “flaunt it.” He winks at Ianto. “Like my jawline. It’d be a crime to cover this up.”

But Ianto doesn’t return this smile. “Don’t you get tired of pretending to be what everyone expects you to be,” he says quietly.

Not for the first time this evening, Jack is struck silent. Finally, shoulders slumped, he tells Ianto, “Yeah. Yeah, it does. Anything the media expects was true in the beginning, but then it got easier to keep up the act than show anyone anything real. It’s not like they care after all.” The last part is said faintly bitterly. “To be in the spotlight, you sell your soul - and your privacy - away.”

“I understand.” Ianto ducks his head, just as Jack is about to spitefully say that he probably doesn’t, that he’s never been as prominent as Jack, but then he recalls something Gwen said about Ianto’s ex-girlfriend Lisa Hallett. Thankfully, he snaps his mouth shut seconds before Ianto glances up, eyes dark. “Sorry.” He finishes his wine off. “That effectively killed the mood.”

“Don’t apologize,” says Jack. “If we’re gonna ‘date,’ we’re going to have to get used to every facet of each other, including the awkward bits.” He waggles his eyebrows at Ianto, who snorts. 

Chatting quietly, they finish off their pasta, and then Jack carries their plates over to the sink, waving off Ianto’s offers to help. He orders Ianto to the couch where he pours them another full glass of wine each.

“It’s a Harkness family thing,” he explains to Ianto. “You don’t let a guest go home without being as drunk as they could possibly be.”

“Or rather a Thane family thing?” Ianto asks, legs crossed as he sips at his wine again. 

Jack feels a flicker of surprise. Not too many people know his birth name; he rarely mentioned it to anyone and started going by Jack Harkness in high school, Jack after his mother’s nickname for Javic and Harkness for a beloved Marvel character. In fact, he had his name legally changed as soon as he could.

“Gwen mentioned it,” Ianto says cautiously after Jack doesn’t respond for a long minute. “Sorry...forget I brought it up.”

“Nah.” Jack grins again. He’s not ashamed of his birth name or anything; he just wasn’t expecting it. “You just caught me off-guard. That’s not really who I am anymore.”

“So then tell me,” says Ianto, offering Jack a warm smile. “Who is Jack Harkness? Not the one the media and the public knows, but the real one. Tell me.”

And so, surprising himself, Jack does.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik). I tweet and reblog mostly Torchwood with occasionally amusing commentary on nonsense. Please come talk to me and tell me if/how much you like my fic or like ask me about it on tumblr; all my schoolwork has become remote now, and I have limited social interaction. And if you have any future ideas for this potential verse or something you'd like to see, drop it in the comments!


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